


Til Death

by dsa_archivist



Category: due South
Genre: Challenge Response, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-10-31
Updated: 1999-10-31
Packaged: 2018-11-10 07:43:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11122815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dsa_archivist/pseuds/dsa_archivist
Summary: Fraser and Ray are investigating a case that has unexpected and drastic consequences.





	Til Death

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Speranza, the archivist: this story was once archived at [Due South Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Due_South_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Due South Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/duesoutharchive).

Til Death

Disclaimer: As usual; they're not mine, I'm doing this for fun (yes really), I have no money, please don't sue.

Distribution: Feck it, go for it - so long as you keep my name as the author

Rating: NC-17 for graphic (or blisteringly hot ... so I'm told *w*) sex between two men. If ya ain't into that then bugger off. This is also a **death story**. Major death, major angst, major sex *bg*

Pairing: Fraser/Kowalski 

Author's Notes: Okay, hmmmm. How to explain this one?! *scratches head, thinkin'* Well, it's all Gearbox's fault over on Serge. She basically challenged me to a race to see which of us could write an NC-17 story first (it was also an experiment to see if it's possible to die from blushing too much. She beat me by an hour and a half ... at blushing that is). Admittedly this story ain't the one I originally started, but it fits, so ... *L*  
I've been obsessin' recently about losin' the one person I love the most in the world (it seems to be a trend at the moment, I've noticed other people doing it too ... maybe it's the time of year, I dunno) and then RayK wouldn't leave me alone (I think he's been talkin' ta Methos, I'll have ta have words with those two) and so you guys get this depressingly sad death story. I won't tell ya to enjoy it, I know better than that ;-)

Many thanks to Genie, Maxine, Surfgirl and Meg for beta-ing for me. You guys are the best and this wouldn't be anywhere near as good without y'all.

Feedback: Hell, yeah. Bitch to yer hearts content ;-) 

Til Death (c) Wylt, October 1999.

* * *

Fraser sat, almost slumped down in to the sofa with his head resting against the back cushion as he stared at his partner. Ray's apartment was dimly lit. The soft light that fell across the sharp plane of Ray's cheek as he slept highlighted the creamy gold of his skin and shone brightly in his hair.

They had had a difficult day, more so than usual, as they raced against time to stop the gang-rapes and killing. All too few breaks in a case that had been open for weeks now. Having found nothing, they finally gathered all their notes and headed for Ray's home in frustration, picking through all the evidence ... or lack of, whilst indulging in pizza and a more relaxed environment.

Fraser glanced at his watch, surprised to discover it was well after midnight. Ray had fallen asleep an hour or so ago. Just slumped over against the arm of the sofa between one word and the next and was out like a light, as the saying went. He looked ... almost peaceful. His lean body was relaxed, arms wrapped around his chest and his head was thrown back in a heart stopping display of repose and trust. His features were tranquil, serene even; long lashes curled slightly against the swell of his cheeks and the lines that creased his forehead at day were almost non-existent at night. Despite his apparent contentment at sleeping on the couch, Fraser knew that, given the angle Ray was being forced to keep his head, his neck and back would be in agony tomorrow and, as much as he hated to do so, he would have to wake his friend. But he looked so beautiful, so unguarded as he slept, that he was reluctant to disturb him.

His hand reached, of its own volition, to gently touch the spiked mass of his partner's hair. Surprisingly soft and curiously alive with its own energy, almost as if it were a separate entity from the deceptively slim body beneath it, Fraser carefully buried his fingertips in the dishevelled thickness of it. Ray murmured, shifting uncomfortably against the sofa's unyielding hardness and Fraser hurriedly yanked his hand back into his lap as the other man squirmed, settling back into sleep. Shaking his head as he mentally berated himself for almost getting caught giving into his impulse to touch the wiry American, Fraser pushed himself off the couch. He crouched beside the sleeping cop, leaning against one of his spread legs for balance.

"Ray." He spoke quietly, not wanting to startle the other man awake, and gently shook his shoulder. "Ray."

The blonde man mumbled in stubborn objection, burrowing back into the cushions, ignoring him. Fraser's voice grew steadily louder and more insistent, as did the hand on his partner's shoulder until finally Ray began to wake. His long, lithe body stretched with unconscious grace even before he was fully cognisant, feline and mesmerising to watch. Fraser couldn't help himself; Ray was all he had dreamed of for months. A flicker of desire flashed through his belly to settle in his groin where it slowly smouldered and burned. And in that instant he was blindingly, painfully hard. His traitorous hand rose to cup one perfect cheek, callused thumb rubbing lightly against the perma-stubble that glittered golden in the light. Still half asleep, Ray turned his face into the caress, pressing his lips to Fraser's palm and allowing his tongue to flicker against the skin, tasting the slight salty slickness there. The Canadian blushed as eyelids rose to reveal sleepy sky-blue eyes that blazed into his soul, a warm smile curving over that surprisingly mobile mouth with its devastating lower lip. Fraser froze, caught, unable to do anything more than wait breathlessly for the rejection he was certain was coming next. He felt like he was floating. There were no anchors or support, and it was disconcertingly disturbing as he floundered for a solid grip on something, anything. He blinked slowly, watching mutely as one graceful, long fingered hand rose to slide over his shoulder and cup the back of his neck. A steady pressure urged him closer. He had not the strength of will to resist.

Warm lips met his; soft, gentle, undemanding. With a sigh, Fraser melted against the hard body of his partner. Ray's arms enfolded him, creating a safe haven where he had no need for the walls he usually kept around his soul. Feeling strangely liberated, Fraser leaned closer, desperate to fill the tiny spaces between them as the kiss deepened. His senses were overwhelmed. Fervour and passion made him pant as much as the feel of Ray's body against his. 

The slick of his partner's tongue against his lips startled him somewhat, but he was instinctively opening his mouth to allow the other man access before thought was possible. Heat, suction, desire: he found it all in the kiss, and it was like a homecoming he'd never expected to feel. Tentatively he sucked at the tip of Ray's tongue, drawing it back into his mouth before starting an exploration of his own, mapping Ray's mouth and taste.

The need to breathe eventually forced them apart. They stared at each other, flushed and panting, both unsure what *exactly* had just happened.

***

Ray stared, wide eyed and incredibly aroused, at his partner. Fraser. He'd kissed Fraser. Not only that, but Fraser had kissed him back. The Canadian's pale skin was tinged with crimson that steadily darkened the longer he stared, but he couldn't help himself. Blue eyes looked back at him, glazed and unfocussed, pupils so wide there was very little colour left in the orbs. That perfect mouth was red and swollen. Ray's breath caught when Fraser's tongue flicked into view as he unconsciously moistened his lips. He hoped to God he wasn't dreaming again. Asleep in his bed or, worse, napping at his desk in the squad room. Because he knew how he wanted this night to end. And, from the looks of things, Fraser had the same idea. The bigger man was holding his weight on his arms, draped over Ray's body with one leg thrown across Ray's thigh and the American yearned to feel that body pressed against his once more. He reached up to cup one chiselled cheek, thumb brushing lightly over Fraser's lips. Amazingly the Mountie's eyes darkened. His thumb was gently drawn into the moist depths of the other man's mouth, his tongue swirling over the sensitive pad as he suckled. Ray choked back a moan, wanting, needing so much more.

"Fraser ..." He whispered, pulling the other man closer. "... c'mere."

Their mouths met once more: demanding, insatiable and relentless. Fraser nipped and sucked his way along the distinct line of Ray's jaw as the blonde man angled his head to give him better access. His hands traced the lines of taut muscle along Fraser's back, cupping the perfect ass hidden by his jeans and pulled him closer. Ray rubbed his erection rhythmically against his partner's, fingers digging into soft flesh frantically. 

A soft breeze of cold air against his stomach sobered him up somewhat as he realised Fraser was struggling to pull his t-shirt over his head. Moaning in loss as Fraser's warmth deserted him, he nonetheless let the Mountie strip him of the thin cotton garment, watching in amusement as he simply tossed it to the floor without a hint of the politeness he was renowned for. His own hands rose to tug at the buttons of Fraser's shirt, joined by the other man's fumbling fingers. Neither of them seemed to be able to remember how to undo buttons. With a growl of frustration, Fraser settled for ripping his shirt open, ignoring the pop and fall of the small buttons as they broke. They grinned at each other and Ray yanked at the cotton white t-shirt Fraser wore, smiling affectionately as a distinctly dishevelled Mountie emerged from underneath.

Twin groans of pleasure rose as flesh met flesh and Fraser's chest rubbed against the smooth skin of Ray's torso. The blonde man arched, body jerking, as Fraser's mouth found a nipple, sucking gently before scraping the small nubbin with his teeth. He was being pressed inexorably into the deep cushions of the sofa, his body sliding bonelessly back as he helplessly submitted to Fraser's ministrations. His hands clenched and unclenched against the other man's broad shoulders before moving to bury themselves in the thick waves of his hair. Ray heard rather than felt the zipper of his jeans being undone, reacting mindlessly to the grip of Fraser's hands on his hips as they urged him to lift himself up so that the Mountie could pull his pants and boxers down.

Moist heat enveloped him and he thrust involuntarily, meeting no resistance. Fraser's tongue swirled, his mouth moving slowly up and down the length of his cock with a suction that was slowly driving him out of his mind. Ray clutched for some semblance of sanity and control, forcing his hands to uncurl from Fraser's hair and gently pulled that devastating mouth off of him.

"Not like that Frase," he gasped, struggling for coherence.

"Did I do something wrong?" A world of aching insecurity and loneliness was expressed in those five words, but Ray supposed this was as new to Fraser as it was to him. Still ....

Ray shook his head, speechless, stroking the dark hair absently. "Christ, no. I just ..." He blushed, pulling the Canadian up to meet his lips. "I don't want it to be like that, Frase." He whispered against the other man's mouth. "I need you. I want to feel you." He tightened his grip as Fraser tried to pull away, burying his face in the creamy white skin at the base of Fraser's neck, inhaling gently.

"I've never ..." Ray felt the skin against his face flush with heat, heard the nervous swallow and knew without looking that Fraser was blushing.

"Neither've I."

"It might hurt you, Ray. *I* might hurt you."

Ray licked the hollow above Fraser's collarbone, enjoying the shudder of reaction that ran through the Mountie's body.

"Please, Frase." He was begging, desperate to feel that smooth body against him, feel that weight on top of him, feel him inside of him. "Please, I don't care."

"You have to care. Don't care when it's too late." Fraser's arms gathered him close, lifting him slightly so he was no longer being pressed into the couch.

"Fraser ... Ben, please. I need you. Let me do this."

A hand grasped his chin and dragged his eyes up, blue meeting blue. "You don't have to, I can ..."

Ray stopped him with a kiss that quickly got out of hand. Reluctantly pulling away, he leaned his forehead against the other man's.

"I know. But I want to." He held his breath, watching the flicker of indistinguishable emotions cross the usually stoic face of his partner and waited, heart thudding in his chest. "Please." Slowly, deep blue eyes closed and imperceptibly the dark head nodded.

Ray leapt forward, crushing Fraser against him as their mouths met and his hands roamed freely over the pale skin now beneath him. Feather light touches brushed over the rose-pink of Fraser's nipples, followed by the wet suction of his tongue. Ben moaned. His hips thrusting uncontrollably as he felt Ray's clever fingers working at the button fly of his jeans, brushing him lightly through the heavy fabric.

"Easy, Ben." Ray's voice soothed him, a hand reaching to draw him to his feet as he was gently divested of his clothes. Fraser pulled him into an embrace, burying his face in the soft skin at the jointure of his partner's neck and shoulder. For a moment he merely breathed in the scent of him, revelling in the feel of Ray's now naked body against his own, marvelling at how natural it felt. The sensation of long, slender fingers threading through his hair startled him and he began to nuzzle the flesh beneath his lips. A quiet sigh whispered across his ear, sounding almost like his name. His tongue flicked out to taste again and again, until there wasn't an inch of the long beautiful throat that had not received his attention.

Hands and mouths voracious, they danced backwards into the bedroom to fall on the bed in a tangle of limbs. Their hips ground together, finding a rhythm that served only to inflame their passion. Trembling Fraser pulled away, spreading Ray's thighs to allow room for him to settle between them as he gently caressed the body sprawled wantonly before him, leaning forward to press his lips to the hollow beneath Ray's ribs where his stomach curved inwards at each sharp inhalation of breath.

Ray's body shifted suddenly beneath him and Fraser glanced up a little unsteadily, to see him frantically reaching for a small bottle of lubricant poking out from his bedside table. Fraser blushed as the tube was pressed into his hand, staring at it doubtfully before raising his eyes to silently ask for Ray's permission, to ask without words if he was sure. The answering nod was emphatic and more than a little desperate. Ray's eyes closed against the sensation of Fraser's hands gliding lightly over his body, tensing instinctively in shock at the first touch against his opening.

Soft lips covered his, coaxing him until he relaxed back against the pressure of Fraser's finger. There was a brief flash of pain, over almost before he'd processed the sensation, and he forced himself to stay relaxed and pliant, scared that Fraser would stop if he thought he was hurting him.

He bucked violently, every muscle in his body constricting as Fraser's finger moved slightly, and pleasure flooded through him. He wiggled against the invading digit, hips undulating and moaned in need. The sensation of being filled withdrew and he almost sobbed, only to cry out as a second finger was added to the first. Fraser stilled and Ray struggled to draw enough oxygen into his lungs to tell him it was okay. Finally, the long strokes continued, gently building the pleasure inside him until Fraser deemed him ready and removed his hand. Ray's chest heaved, fighting to maintain control, loving the feel of Fraser against his body. Big hands grasped his hips, pulling his pelvis up as he placed a pillow beneath his lower back for support. Unable to help himself, Ray tensed as Fraser pressed himself against his buttocks and the tip of his cock breached him. Ben intertwined their fingers, giving Ray something to hold on to as inch by inch he slowly pushed into his lover's body, intermittently holding still to allow Ray to adjust. Impatiently, the blonde man ground his hips, forcing a low growl from Fraser as he felt the lithe body contract around him. The Mountie's tenuous grip on his restraint broke and he lost control.

Ray could only hang on, moving his fingers up to tangle in the short strands of Fraser's hair as his body gave in to the explosion of feeling. He dragged in a gasping breath and he could smell Ben, the scent of his sweat and sex curiously erotic. The need to be an extension of Fraser's desire curled his hips up to meet every thrust, the force driving up through his spine in flashes of light and warmth that spread throughout his limbs as he wrapped his legs around his lover's waist, clinging to that perfect body. His orgasm built uncontrollably. The feel of heat filled him, cleansing his soul with the fire of it and then remaining warm and silken within him, even after Fraser finally gave in to the overwhelming sensations, shuddering uncontrollably to collapse against him. Ray clasped the still shaking body against him, one hand gently stroking the thick dark hair as Fraser pressed his lips to his shoulder in gratitude. He had *never* experienced anything like that in his life, and he never wanted to again, unless it was with Fraser. It had gone beyond physical desire to the point where he was certain their souls had merged making them truly one entity.

He let Fraser roll them over, settling himself with his head pillowed on Ben's broad chest and threw an arm and a leg over his waist and thigh, squirming until he found a comfortable position. He knew they should talk, but words seemed irrelevant. They'd said all they needed to say with their actions.

Fraser's arms enveloped him, cradling him gently as he burrowed into his side, seeking the warmth and comforting scent of his partner as he dozed languidly.

oOo

They were startled awake by the shrill ringing of Ray's phone, not given the chance to bask in each other's presence as they drifted up from a sleep cradled in each other's arms. Ray swore softly, then louder as he saw Fraser open his eyes at the insistent noise. Pressing a quick kiss filled with promise to the other man's lips, he slipped from the bed to pad unselfconsciously out to the phone. Fraser smiled to himself, happy and fulfilled, listening to the quiet murmur of Ray's voice floating from the other room. He looked up, frowning, as Ray appeared in the doorway, tense and angry.

"That was Welsh. They have a lead."

oOo

Ray crouched, legs screaming in protest, behind a large shipping crate. He could just make out the shape of Fraser opposite him. His red tunic was glaringly obvious in their dull surroundings and he shook his head in despair. His gun was a comforting weight in his hand, fingers clenching and unclenching nervously around the grip as his palms sweated with anxiety. The warehouse was surrounded and there were enough cops here to bring down the mob, but somehow Ray wasn't reassured, a faint disquieting sensation of foreboding settling over him.

The explosive noise of gunfire shattered his thoughts, and he pushed his glasses further up his nose determinedly, all the while keeping a close eye on his partner. Unarmed and outnumbered meant Benton Fraser was going to do something stupid. He always did.

Shouts and cries echoed from further inside the warehouse, but no one appeared. Ray shifted uncomfortably, leaning back against a box in an effort to remove some of his weight off his knees and ankles. His radio flared into life with an excruciating burst of static and he fiddled with the controls until he heard Huey's voice clearly. Approximately two suspects still at large, tighten the net and try to flush them out. Ray glanced up, his gaze meeting Fraser's and knew that the Mountie's super-senses had heard the transmission. He smiled, rising to his feet and crossed the open area to his friend. His hand rose to clasp the other man's shoulder, meaning to urge him towards the others when a flicker of movement caught his eye. Turning swiftly, gun rising instinctively he realised that he was still in shadow. The suspect, a dark haired man dressed in a suit, couldn't see him clearly due to the poor lighting and Ray's dark clothes. His gun wasn't pointed at him.

Ray raced forward, screaming at Fraser to get down, cursing the RCMP uniform that made Ben a walking bullseye as he struggled to get a clear shot. His gun spat, seconds after the man on the gallery's and Ray hit his target squarely in the chest. He watched as the man collapsed, his gun falling from his limp hand to crash to the ground, before turning to help Fraser up from the floor. Only to stop in his tracks.

Fraser was lying sprawled against the cold concrete, so still that Ray wasn't certain he was still breathing. Cautiously approaching him, Ray knelt to gently touch the pale face, running his fingers tenderly over Fraser's closed eyelids.

"Ben?"

His lashes flickered, and then struggled open as his chest heaved. The red serge of his tunic failed to disguise the dark stain of blood on his chest and Ray choked back a sob. Why the *fuck* wasn't he wearing a vest?

"Ray?"

The Detective fought down the hysteria threatening to overwhelm him and grasped the flailing hand as it reached blindly for him, pulling it to his lips. Fraser coughed suddenly, a thin trail of blood falling from his lips as he struggled against the liquid filling his lungs.

"Yeah, Frase. I'm here." He carefully slid his lover's limp body into his lap, cradling him gently as though he were a paper doll he was afraid he'd crush.

"I can't see." Fraser's voice, usually so brave, had a thin undercurrent of fear. Ray sniffed, ignoring the tears running down his face as he struggled to hold onto the life in his arms.

"Just hold on Frase, we'll get help." He was subconsciously rocking him back and forth, hands stroking the cooling skin of his partner's face. "What did ya think ya were doin'?" He murmured quietly against dark hair.

"Ray?" His deep voice was getting weaker, seemingly tired, and Ray clutched desperately at him. "I wanted to ... thank you for ... last night." He was gasping, fighting to draw breath into his failing lungs and ignore the clutch of the darkness rising to swallow him. "And to ... tell you that I ... love you."

Ray sobbed uncontrollably, recognising the goodbye. "I know, Ben. I love you too."

"I'm ... s-sorry."

"It's okay." He needed Ben to feel that, even if it wasn't. "Go ta sleep, an' everythin' will be all right."

He bent to press his lips against Fraser's mouth, feeling a slick hand come up to caress his cheek. Ben sighed softly against him, into him, and his body went limp in his arms, his hand falling to uncurl slowly against the floor. Ray crushed him against his chest, grief tightening its grip on his soul as he rocked back ... and forth. A keening wail burst from him as tears flooded from beneath closed lids to drip onto Fraser's lax features, eyes wide but forever unseeing. 

***

Across town, Frannie woke suddenly, screaming and crying hysterically. And, despite the best efforts of her family, she didn't stop for over an hour.

***

In a different state, a thin, almost emaciated man looked up from the paperwork he was sorting through to stare thoughtfully at the blazing fire roaring opposite him. A single tear ran down his cheek to disappear into a thin moustache and a murmured name echoed hollowly through the room.

"Benny."

***

Welsh stood, motionless and in shock, hidden in the shadows of the warehouse. Before him, sprawled in almost the exact centre of the large room was the unmoving form of Constable Benton Fraser, Super Mountie. His Stetson lay to one side, almost obscured by the quiet Detective Vecchio. The aging Lieutenant gestured for the Duck Boys to wait outside, forcing his legs forward, only to grind to a halt some ten paces from his Detective and the Canadian. Ray was sitting on the cold floor, rocking back and forth with Fraser's still form cradled against him. His face was vacant and, when he finally acknowledged his superior's presence, his eyes were empty of all life. There was a smear of blood drying on the blonde man's cheek and a streak of red across his lips.

Ray's emotional state told him all he needed to know, he didn't have to see the large puddle of blood slowly sinking into the tiny cracks in the concrete. It refused to compute; Fraser couldn't be dead, he was like Superman. But the evidence was irrefutable.

"Detective?" Crouching, Welsh reached out, disconcerted as the younger man shrank back and turned away to gaze blankly down into the face of the man in his arms.

The Lieutenant was at a loss. Instinctively his hand settled on the Detective's shoulder to rub soothingly at the tense muscles. Ray stared up at him, his face uncomprehending. Welsh continued to massage his back and neck, quietly murmuring his name in an attempt to bring him back from wherever he was trying to follow Fraser. Listlessly small signs of life returned to Ray's face as he blinked rapidly to clear his vision. His eyes pleaded sadly for his superior to help him, filling with tears as he came into the present. Slowly the mask cracked and his face creased to spill burning hot tears down his cheeks. Kowalski looked back at the man he had loved and one hand hesitantly reached to shakily touch his face, smoothing away the blood crusted on his friend's pale skin. Ignoring Welsh's presence he bent, gently touching his lips to Fraser's forehead and then his mouth, oblivious to the coldness of his flesh. A low moan broke the air, swiftly getting louder and louder. Hugging Fraser's body closer to himself, Ray resumed his rocking motion again.

oOo

Ray stared blankly into space, not even hearing the words of the priest. Fraser's funeral had quite a turn out Even Mother Nature appeared to be mourning as a fine rain drizzled miraculously from a deep blue sky. Only the firm grip of Francesca's hand clutching his kept him from falling apart, but he successfully managed to keep his emotions in check. The neverending well wishes and condolences were beginning to wear on him, his anger at the senselessness of it all choking him.

His body stood, eyes glued to the casket being slowly lowered into the ground, but his mind was back with Fraser. Back at that perfect night exactly one week ago when everything had seemed so right in the world. It was like he no longer lived the same way everyone else did. What was it that Fraser called it? Linear, that was it. His life exsisted in a solitary moment surrounded by dark warehouse walls.

Welsh's teddy bear gruff voice shattered his thoughts and he belatedly realised that everyone was leaving. He glanced up into the lined face of his superior officer before swinging back to stare at the final resting place of his best friend.

"Do you think I made a mistake?"

His nasal voice was so quiet Welsh almost didn't hear the first full sentance Ray had spoken in a week. The big man turned to stand next to Kowalski, looking sadly at Fraser's grave.

"How do you mean?"

Ray chewed on his lip for a moment, as if he wasn't sure what he'd meant either. "Not sending him home to be buried in Canada. Do you think I made a mistake?"

The Lieutenant considered his next words carefully. "What do *you* think?"

"I ..." Ray's hand covered his eyes, his thin shoulders shaking uncontrollably as he lost the battle against his grief. "I couldn't bear to send him away." The whispered words hung in the air as Mother Nature wept for her Mountie.

oOo

It had been three months since Huey, Dewey and Welsh had discovered him cradling Fraser's body, his cheek smeared with the Mountie's blood as he screamed his anger and loss at the universe. Three months of pure hell. He hadn't realised how much he depended on the other man to define him. He was no longer certain of who or what he was, except that he was a shadow of the man he had been because of Fraser. They had completed each other, he saw now, wondering why it had taken them so long to admit their feelings for each other, but grateful that they had had the one night at least. Even if his waking moments were spent struggling against the aching hole in his heart, and his dreams filled with the remembered taste, scent and touch of his lover's body. He sat, hunched behind his desk, staring blindly at the bullpen's neverending activity. Frannie's eyes stared at him curiously from out of dark circles, and he knew that she had guessed what had happened between them. But he couldn't talk about it, not yet, maybe not ever. 

His heart had died with the Mountie, his soul was incomplete. He knew everyone worried about him, thought he was taking Fraser's death too hard. His clothes hung off his thin frame, face cadaverous, eyes haunted. And still the pain refused to diminish.

There were still three suspects, in total, at large from the shooting, and that was the only thing keeping him going. He was going to find them, and kill them. After that, he shrugged, well ... he'd see.

Red, out of the corner of his eye, caught his attention. He whipped his head round, instinctively searching for Fraser's calm face. But he wasn't there. He'd never be there again.

Diefenbaker whined beside him. The wolf stretched and recurled himself around Ray's feet, his tail thumping against the floor. He reached down absently to bury his hands in the long fur, thankful that the animal had finally decided to forgive him for allowing Fraser to go off without him.

Ray rose to his feet, stretching uncomfortably, before loping off quietly, ignoring the concerned stares following him. He'd given the GTO back to his father; too many memories of Fraser intertwined with the black car, and had chosen an unmarked police car once more. He left Dief with Frannie, heading out to grab a bite to eat in an effort to appease his friends and family. He was driving sedately towards a small cafe he had recently discovered when his cellphone rang. It was Welsh, informing him that the three suspects had been spotted in the Downtown Chicago area. He wrenched the wheel around, disregarding the screech of protest the tires gave as he floored the accelerator and headed back across town to the docks.

oOo

He was pressed into a small alcove that offered him limited cover, listening to Huey and Dewey screaming orders over the sound of gunfire. The irony of the situation did not escape him, but at least this time there was no partner of his to be killed. He leaned around the corner, squeezing the trigger before jerking back to protect himself from the answering retort of bullets.

A flash of red jerked his attention from the firefight and he gaped at the vision of Fraser standing opposite him, a sad smile on his perfect face. Scrubbing desperately at his eyes, he slid helplessly down the wall to huddle miserably on the floor. He glanced over at the Duck Boys, seeing that they were still in control of the situation before returning his gaze to his deceased lover, surprised to find he was still there. This can't be.

Fraser's bluer than blue eyes were yearning, filled with a love so strong it was blinding. Suddenly, Ray didn't care about anything, but Fraser's presence. Those amazing eyes widened as Ray smiled through his tears and the dark head shook imperceptibly, begging him. 

Ray holstered his gun and did the only thing he could.

He stood up.

_Finis_


End file.
